The Scoop
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: Vicki Vale fears her career as a reporter has stagnated, and in an act of desperation, asks the Joker for an interview. Her search for the perfect scoop quickly gets out of hand as Vale soon finds herself way over her head, and on the wrong side of the Joker's irrationally jealous and psychotic girlfriend, Harley Quinn.
1. Chapter 1

**The Scoop**

Gotham City was one of the busiest metropolises in America, an active hub of industry, an urban center with huge potential for redevelopment…and more often than not, a cesspool of violent crime committed, for the most part, by insane people in costumes. It probably wasn't the best place in the world to raise a family, or find a rewarding career, unless you happened to enjoy being terrorized by costumed lunatics, or considered becoming one yourself. But unless you were in some way mentally disturbed, Gotham City couldn't be said, objectively, to be full of exciting opportunities.

Except for one class of people, people who enjoyed chaos, and _were_ arguably suffering from some kind of mental disorder, based upon their career choice. These people were called journalists.

Unlike many of the supercriminals, the journalists of Gotham City were motivated purely by monetary gain and personal ambition. Like the supercriminals, they took pleasure in the misfortune of others, secretly hoping for some city-wide tragedy to occur in order to be the first on the scene and beat out the competition. The journalists hoped for catastrophe to advance their careers, and encouraged it by publicizing and glamorizing the shocking crimes and tragic events caused by the lunatics. They put aside all sense of morality or ethics in order to self-serve and promote whatever stories or opinions would sell the most papers, which were obviously the most controversial ones. All that mattered was profit, promotion, and getting the scoop ahead of the rivals. A breaking, exciting news story meant the different between the pinnacle of success and the depths of failure. And at the moment, Vicki Vale was stuck squarely in the pit of the latter.

She had hoped to use her connection gained by her brief and meaningless love affair with Bruce Wayne to get ahold of some juicy society gossip. Sadly, Bruce had proved a dead end, with no interest in society gossip, and no personality of his own to generate interest. Far from being the exciting playboy billionaire glamorized by the press, Vicki's own experience with Bruce had been deadly dull. The man was completely boring, with no sense of fun, and no element of mystery or excitement to him whatsoever. Vicki had let him down gently after a few weeks, and Bruce had taken it well, which is to say, completely emotionlessly, which had been Vicki's general experience of Bruce throughout their whole relationship. How a man could be that rich and that boring, Vicki would never know.

But now she was single and desperate. Not for a relationship – that desire was for other, pathetic women, weaker than her, women who needed people. Vicki had never needed anyone – she was a strong, independent woman, not one of those women whose ambitions ran no higher than a husband and kids, with no imagination and no career goals. Vicki had both of those things, which is why she had always been a good journalist. Even the best stories required a little imagination, and the worst ones absolutely demanded it. And in the case of no news, imagination had to completely take over to make up something to print.

No, Vicki was desperate for a scoop. Some story that would blow Gotham's collective mind and get her back on the top of her game, and on the news industry in this town. Right now she was forced to suffer the gloating of that pompous hack, Jack Ryder, a man who only got news stories because he inadvertently stumbled into them by an annoying mixture of incompetence and luck. He always seemed to be in the wrong place at the right time, hence his story about his brush with death with Deadshot, which he sold for a sizeable amount after being rescued by Batman. Or his up close and personal experience with Deacon Blackfire and his cult, another brush with death avoided thanks to Batman, and sold for a considerable price.

Ryder was currently boasting, on this particular evening at the press charity dinner, about his recent encounter with the Riddler, who had agreed to give him an in-depth interview of his ingenious way of creating riddles, which was sure to be popular among the readers of the newspaper. Criminal profiles always were, and even D-list criminal encounters like Deadshot and Blackfire proved profitable for the paper. An actual interview with the Riddler, as B-list as he might be, was going to be incredibly popular. Riddler wasn't particularly feared or respected by the people of Gotham, but he had been in the supervillain game long enough to have a perennial interest, if only for people to discuss how someone like him had managed to stay in the game for so long.

"Remind me when your last big scoop was again, Vale?" asked Ryder suddenly, breaking in on Vicki's thoughts. "It's been so long, I think everyone here has forgotten."

Vicki glared at him. "It was the Bruce Wayne expose, and you know it," she muttered.

"Ah yes, profile of Gotham City's least interesting socialite," said Ryder, smiling. "What woman broke his heart so much that he can't commit to relationships now. With that kinda nose for news, Vale, maybe a career in the tabloids would be more your speed."

Vicki bristled. Although all journalists muck-raked, most so-called respectable ones thought of themselves as a step up from the tabloids, even though they were basically motivated by the same things.

"So Riddler was really the best villain you could get, huh?" she shot back. "What's the matter, Ryder? Scared to actually interview a real one?"

"Sneer all you want, Vale," retorted Ryder. "I don't see you profiling any big supercriminals. Between Riddler and Bruce Wayne, I guarantee my interviewee is more interesting."

"You just watch," said Vicki. "I'll get a real A-list supervillain for my next story, which will blow your pathetic Riddler profile out of the water."

"Good luck with that," snapped Ryder. "These guys don't need publicity, and they don't do interviews without killing the people who interview them. Who in all of Gotham do you think would be willing to let you talk to them? Poison Ivy would choke the life out of you with her plants, the Scarecrow would fear gas you on sight, Two-Face would just shoot you twice. Who do you think is going to indulge you, and why?"

Vicki opened her mouth to make up a response when suddenly, a giant hole was blown in the wall. As the smoke from the explosion cleared, the journalists could make out the familiar, purple-suited figure of the Joker, closely followed by his henchmen and devoted and loyal henchwench, Harley Quinn.

"Hidey ho, news enthusiasts!" the Joker exclaimed. "Here's a scoop for you! Press charity dinner robbed by the Clown Prince of Crime – number of casualties to be determined, based upon your cooperation, of course. Harley, boys, let's make some headlines!"

The gang moved into the room, grabbing the donated cash and collecting valuables from the guests. "Oooh, Mr. J!" shrieked Harley suddenly, racing over to Vicki and eyeing her large diamond necklace. "Can I keep this one?" Harley cried, ripping it off Vicki's neck and holding it around her own. "Suits me, don't it? And it's so pretty and shiny and sparkly, and I love it! Can I keep it? Oh please, please, please, please, please…"

"Yeah, fine, just shut up about it," interrupted Joker, who was ignoring her and perusing the buffet, grabbing a slice of cake.

"Give that back right now!" snapped Vicki, seizing her necklace and yanking it out of Harley's grip. "You can't keep it, because it's mine! And I won't stand seeing my necklace, which I paid for myself, around the neck of the Joker's dumb blonde floozy!"

Silence fell after Vicki's outburst – Ryder stared at her as if she had lost her mind, which she temporarily had. She had been so annoyed by her situation, and by Ryder's gloating, that she was in no mood to deal calmly or rationally with being robbed.

Harley stared at her in shock for a moment, but that quickly changed to a look of loathing. "Mr. J!" she shrieked, turning to him. "Did you hear what the nasty reporter lady said to me?!"

"Nope, wasn't listening," retorted Joker, gulping down the cake and licking the crumbs from the fingers of his glove as he came over to Harley and Vicki.

"She stole my rock back from me!" exclaimed Harley, pointing. "And called me your dumb blonde floozy!"

"Well, she's right about that!" chuckled Joker. "If she had called you _a_ dumb blonde floozy, I'd have had to reprimand her. But you are _my_ dumb blonde floozy, pooh. Nothing offensive in that."

"But my diamond…" began Harley.

"You stole it first – all's fair in the thieving game," interrupted Joker, shrugging. "How many times have we stolen loot from the other freaks? If she's got the guts to take it back, she should be applauded for that. Way to go, sweetheart," he said, nodding at Vicki. "There's not many people who would have the balls to stand up to Harley. Especially people who ain't got balls!" he chuckled. "You guys done yet?" he demanded, rounding on the henchmen.

"All set, boss," said one, holding up two sacks of loot as the others followed suit.

"Great – let's leave these generous folks to their party," said Joker, turning to go.

"Ain't she gonna be punished?" demanded Harley, pointing at Vicki.

"No, but you will be if you don't get your ass back to the car right now," retorted Joker.

"But my diamond…" Harley began again.

Joker raised his cane and swatted Harley hard on the bottom with it. "Car. Now," he said, firmly.

Harley glared from him to Vicki, but obeyed, heading out the hole in the wall and grumbling loudly while rubbing her bottom tenderly.

"Sorry about the kid," said Joker, turning to Vicki. "She's such a spoiled brat sometimes, and won't take no for answer, trust me. I blame myself – I treat her too good."

He reached out and grabbed the necklace back from Vicki. "And if she's a very good girl, she might get to this later. Or I might just sell it. But if she behaves herself, she might deserve a reward. Or misbehaves herself, which is what I've trained her to do!" he laughed.

He strode out the hole in the wall, whistling and twirling the necklace between his fingers.

"Vale, are you nuts?" demanded Ryder, racing over to her. "You could have been killed talking to Quinn like that!"

"But I wasn't," retorted Vicki, staring after them. "In fact, I think I just got my scoop."


	2. Chapter 2

Vicki was no shrink, and she didn't know if insanity was contagious. With all the lunatics running around in Gotham, the whole city should have been infected by now if it was, herself included. And it was certainly one explanation for her actions, because this was crazy, she thought, as she looked up at the glowing, neon sign proclaiming the location of the Funnibone Shipping Warehouse, which was the Joker's current hideout, or so the scuttlebutt about the newsroom said.

She stood in the drizzling rain a few more minutes, and then raised a fist and knocked loudly on the door, her heart pounding in fear.

It was opened a few moments later by one of the henchmen from the robbery, a large, heavyset man who gazed at her in surprise.

"Hi, my name's Vicki Vale," said Vicki, before he could say anything. "I'd like to speak to the Joker, please."

The henchman stared at her incredulously, just as Ryder and everyone else had when she had told them her intentions. "Uh…I'll see if he's available," stammered the henchman at last. "You're… _sure_ you wanna speak to the Joker?" he asked. "I mean, you might not leave alive…you ain't suicidal or nothing, huh? Because frankly, there are better, less painful ways to kill yourself if you are…"

"Thanks for the advice – I know what I'm doing," retorted Vicki, which is the response she had given Ryder and all the others when they had tried to dissuade her. And what she had tried to convince herself of before she had come here. It hadn't entirely worked.

The henchman shrugged. "Ok. Not my problem if you have a death wish. C'mon in."

Vicki followed the henchman into the Joker's hideout, gazing around at the disturbing clown and joke items that hung from the walls and ceilings and cluttered the floor. Newspaper articles describing the Joker's crimes decorated every inch of the walls, and Vicki tripped over a set of teeth that immediately started chattering.

"You wait here," said the henchman, gesturing to a moth-eaten sofa. "I'll see if he's busy."

He left Vicki alone with the grinning faces and and gag memorabilia. She had heard a noise from the moment she had entered the hideout, a noise that only grew clearer and more distinct as they went further into the hideout. Now Vicki heard it very clearly, as if it only came from a few rooms away. It was the unmistakable sound of a whoopie cushion.

The sound stopped suddenly, and a few moments later, a familiar figure emerged from a room down the hall, dressed only in a thin, silk, red and black robe, and wearing Vicki's diamond necklace.

Harley Quinn's eyes narrowed when she saw Vicki. "What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped, her hand flying protectively to the necklace, and clasping it to her throat. "Come to steal your property back again? Well, no dice, toots – I earned this fair and square by being Daddy's bad girl and letting him dunk the clown all the way! So you ain't getting it back!"

"That's not what I'm here for," retorted Vicki. "Where's the Joker? I'm here to speak to him, not you."

"Nobody gets to see Mr. J without my approval," retorted Harley, folding her arms across her chest. "And I don't approve. He don't like wasting time on trivialities."

"What's he doing with you, then?" asked Vicki.

"I ain't a triviality!" shrieked Harley. "I'm his true love!"

"From what I hear, that's Batman," retorted Vicki.

"You heard wrong!" snapped Harley. "And you can leave my home if you're going to just spout cheap tabloid gossip! Don't know why I expected anything else from a reporter. Just count your blessings that you're leaving here with your life! Rocco, get her outta here!" snapped Harley to the waiting henchman as she turned and headed back toward the bedroom.

"Not so fast, Harley," said the Joker, emerging from the bedroom dressed in a purple robe. "I heard somebody mention Batman."

"It's nothing, puddin', just that mean reporter lady who tried to keep me from my present," said Harley, still clutching her necklace protectively. "I think she's probably here to steal it back, so we should kill her before she can do that…"

"I'm not here for the necklace," interrupted Vicki. "I'm here to ask the Joker if he'd let me interview him."

There was silence for a moment as both Joker and Harley stared incredulously at her. And then the Joker started laughing.

"She really _has_ got balls!" he chuckled. "No one in the history of the press in Gotham City has ever come to ask me for an interview! I like your moxie, kid!"

"I don't!" snapped Harley, glaring at her. "And I don't like Mr. J liking anyone's moxie but mine! Whatever moxie is. But I ain't letting you interview him! I interviewed him and fell madly in love with him, and I ain't gonna let anyone else fall madly in love with him! And if you interviewed him and printed what he said in the papers, everyone would fall madly in love with him!"

"I'm…pretty sure they wouldn't," said Vicki, slowly. "And I'm pretty, really sure I wouldn't. I just want to give the people of Gotham his side of the story. An exclusive into this man that so many people just dismiss as a raving lunatic. What he really thinks, why he really does what he does, and anything else he wants to tell the people of this city. This is his chance to get his message across clearly…"

"Mr. J don't have a message!" snapped Harley. "And anything he wants to say to the people of Gotham, he can say himself! Reporters will just twist his words and change him into some victim of society, rather than the comic genius he is!"

"It's not such a bad idea, pooh," said Joker, thoughtfully. "It could be quite the joke, depending on how I run with it. I could portray myself however I want, and she'd have to report it exactly as it happens. I could make myself a sympathetic victim of society, and the saps of Gotham would lap it up, and just think how much that would irritate Batsy! I can reach an audience on a grand scale, and talk to them directly, rather than just leave the clueless populous to interpret my crimes. They'd hang on my every word like a bunch of wide-eyed puppies. Wide-eyed puppies that I can then put out of their misery!"

He nodded firmly. "I'll do it! Sign me up, sweetheart!"

"No, you won't!" snapped Harley. "I ain't letting you be alone with this dumb blonde! That's your type! Who knows what could happen when you're alone together, sharing your deepest, darkest secrets?"

"You know exactly what could happen, because it happened with you, you dumb broad," retorted Joker. "But believe me, I don't want another blonde bimbo clinging onto me like glue, so I'll see to it that it doesn't happen again."

"And I honestly don't have any romantic interest in the Joker," said Vicki, sincerely.

"Why not? You're only human," said Harley. "And I assume you're a heterosexual woman. Mr. J's catnip to the ladies. Just look at his chiseled and masculine features, and super sexy smile."

"O…K," said Vicki, slowly. "I can see why people think you're delusional. But I swear, I just want an interview with the Joker. Nothing else."

"I don't trust the word of a reporter," retorted Harley. "You're all scum. Vultures who are too gutless to do your own killing, but hang around carcasses and strip the bones of what others have killed."

"To be fair, Harley, that's kinda what hyenas do too," said Joker.

"Don't insult our babies by comparing them to reporters!" snapped Harley. "They're a lot cuter, for one thing. And for another, I'll leave you alone with them, but not with this bitch. I demand to be interviewed alongside you!"

"Sure," said Vicki. "We can make it into an exclusive about your relationship. That's something the people of Gotham are always interested in. You can each give your perspective on it."

"No, I'd much prefer if you just interviewed me," said Joker, hastily. "I can do a lotta gags with that…"

"We can do a lotta gags together, puddin'," interrupted Harley. "We can make our interview a double act."

"It's not _our_ interview – it's _my_ interview," snapped Joker. "She asked me, not you. You just butted in, so just butt back out!"

"No," retorted Harley, folding her arms across her chest. "I ain't leaving you alone with an attractive blonde reporter."

"What, you think I'm so easy that I'll just jump into bed with any dumb blonde?" demanded Joker. "Don't you trust me at all?"

"It ain't you I don't trust, puddin'," retorted Harley, glaring at Vicki. "An unscrupulous journalist lady would be just the type to try to seduce a high profile figure to further her career."

"You mean like you did?" asked Vicki.

"I didn't seduce him to further my career!" snapped Harley. "We fell in love! _True_ love, which you ain't gonna come between! When you meet with her, I'm gonna be present!"

"Ok, Harl," said Joker, suddenly. "Whatever you say, sweets."

Harley looked at him in shock. "Really?" she asked, surprised. "You ain't gonna fight with me, or argue with me, or call me a useless waste of space whose opinion don't matter?"

"Nope, I'm gonna respect your wishes, pooh bear," said Joker, firmly.

"Really?" repeated Harley, warily. "Well, that…ain't really like you, puddin'."

"I'm turning over a new leaf," replied Joker. "A sincere, honest, respectful leaf. Just for you, cupcake."

"Aw, Mr. J!" she exclaimed, leaping into his arms. "You're the greatest!"

"Why don't you leave your number, Miss Vale, and we'll call you to arrange a duo interview later?" asked Joker. "Right now, my pumpkin pie and I have some business we were trying to attend to in bed before we were so rudely interrupted."

Vicki nodded, handing him her card. "Rocco will show you out," said Joker, standing up. "And we'll both see you soon."

Vicki watched him head back to the bedroom, with Harley draped over him and cooing affectionately. Vicki only knew the Joker by reputation, but even she had to admit, him respecting Harley's wishes and bowing to her jealous outbursts didn't seem very in character.

She should have known the punchline was yet to come.


	3. Chapter 3

Vicki was in the middle of a relaxing, candle-lit bath after a stressful week, when the doorbell to her apartment rang. She considered ignoring it, but it kept repeating, and besides, a good journalist never completely relaxed in case of sudden, breaking news.

She sighed, threw on a robe, and headed to the door. She opened it, and her mouth fell open in shock when she saw the Joker standing there.

"Evening!" he said, cheerfully. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything? Your bath kinda looks like you're expecting company."

"Uh…no," stammered Vicki. "That's just how I relax…on my own."

"Shame," he commented. "Pretty, intelligent, resourceful gal like you should have guys waiting to snap you up and join you in a candlelit bath."

"Uh…I hope that's not what you're here for," said Vicki, slowly. "Because no offense, but I'm really, really not interested."

The Joker's beaming smile fell. "God, women!" he exclaimed. "The most self-centered creatures in the universe! You're as bad as Harley – everything's always about you! Selfish, that's what it is! Thinking just because a guy compliments 'em, that means he's trying to get into their pants! I ain't that kinda scumbag, sweetheart, trying to get a bit on the side while I'm in a committed for life relationship! If I wanted another girlfriend, I'd kill Harley rather than cheat on her - it would be easier! But I'm not here for that. I'm here for my goddamn interview that _you_ asked me for!"

"But…I thought you told Harley you weren't going to have me interview you alone," said Vicki.

"I lied, obviously," retorted Joker. "Said that so she wouldn't throw a jealous fit, and snuck outta the hideout tonight. She thinks I'm out fighting Bats, and if you know what's good for you, you won't disabuse her of that notion. Now are you gonna let me in, or are you gonna interview me in the hallway?"

"No, come in, come in," said Vicki, eagerly, gesturing him inside and then glancing out into the hallway to make sure they were unobserved. "Can I offer you a drink?" she asked, shutting the door.

"Scotch, if you've got any," said Joker.

"Uh…I don't think I do," said Vicki, checking her shelves. "I've got prosecco…"

Joker shook his head sadly. "Times sure have changed from the hard-drinking, chain-smoking newsrooms of my day. I bet you're gonna interview me on some kinda tiny electronic gadget rather than those little tape recorders of the past."

"Uh…yes, I have my tablet, but if you want me to try to find an old tape recorder, I can check the junk room at the office…" began Vicki.

"No, no, we all have to adapt to the modern age," sighed Joker. "But when you've been around as long as I have, it's always a shame to see the old ways die out."

"How long have you been around?" asked Vicki, turning the recorder app on her tablet on.

"About 75 years," replied Joker.

"I'm…sorry, but I think that's pretty impossible," replied Vicki, slowly. "You can't be older than 50."

Joker chuckled. "Reporters always think they know everything, even when they're giving an interview. Can't resist correcting a guy who's meant to be an expert on his own life. Anyway, I never said this interview would be 100% truthful."

"Oh. Then what's the point?" asked Vicki. "Everyone's heard your lies about your past a hundred times, and I have a duty as a journalist to report the truth."

Joker burst out laughing. "Since when?" he asked. "All you reporter types are concerned about is a good story, and trust me, I'm gonna give you a doozy."

"I appreciate that, but I can't really publish it if you don't want Harley to find out you were here," said Vicki. "Otherwise what's she gonna think when I publish this inside scoop about you?"

"She's gonna think you made it up," retorted Joker. "Which is what I'm gonna tell her. You of all people know you journo types make up news all the time. I'm gonna pretend to be angry at your lies, and cancel the duo interview with you. You get your story, I get my interview, and we go our separate ways, with Harley suspecting nothing."

"I don't understand," said Vicki. "If you really don't care about her feelings, why do you care if she's jealous or not?"

Joker sighed. "How do I put this? I don't like unnecessary difficulties. My life is very simple – I commit a genius crime, Batsy shows up to stop me, we have some laughs, and the game starts all over again. But after Harley came into the picture, things got more complicated – that's dames for you, always gumming up the works. Harley's a fun little distraction for the most part, but sometimes she can be a real pain in the ass with all her emotions. Women have a lotta those, you know. And her emotions are irrational, unpredictable things that just don't go away – if anything they get stronger and stronger no matter how much you try to make her repress them. And these emotions often result in things like nagging, clinging, reprimanding, and generally spoiling my fun, and devil-may-care attitude. Now I suppose I could just kill her when she gets like that, but she does hold certain charms for me when she's not being a spoiled brat, and I'd rather have her with me than not. You know, a man sometimes has natural urges that another man in a bat costume just can't satisfy. Not that I've asked him to!" he chuckled. "Anyway, melodrama I enjoy – regular drama not so much. So anything that doesn't set Harley off on one of her fits or rages or insecurities, I'm gonna vote for. And if I can still play my jokes and have my fun with her blissfully ignorant of the whole thing, you can better believe I'll do that, just for the sake of my own convenience. Not for her sake."

"So…you don't love her?" asked Vicki, slowly.

Joker's smile looked a little forced. "This interview isn't about my feelings for Harley," he retorted. "If I'd wanted to talk mushy stuff like love, I'd have done the duo interview with her. But I don't wanna talk about that, which is why I'm here now. There's no joke in a revealing expose about our relationship, but there is one in the interview I'm gonna give you. So let's just get that back on track, shall we?"

"Sure, no problem," said Vicki. "Why don't you just talk, and if I have any questions, I'll ask them. But you're in control of this interview."

Joker grinned. "In control is exactly where I like to be, in every aspect of my life, toots. Especially the chaotic moments. It all goes back to my childhood in the circus, where my mother the snake charmer taught me that life and death can trade places in an instant, based upon the whim of fate, or in her case, a giant reptile. Ironically enough, it wasn't the snakes that eventually killed her – it was me, and a ten ton elephant named Stampy…"

Joker's story was, as might be expected from that start, rambling and convoluted, with a lot of terrible jokes thrown in, which he insisted Vicki take down verbatim. To be honest, after he left and Vicki replayed the recording, she wasn't sure the interview would be quite the thing the public was looking for. The Joker took great joy in the most oddball things, things that he probably thought were funny, but didn't seem objectively humorous. And she would definitely have to cut out these long bursts of laughter at his own jokes. All in all, Vicki was disappointed. This was not the scoop she had been hoping for, but she couldn't very well go back to the Joker and tell him that and ask for another interview. But then again, she couldn't stand to see Jack Ryder's smug, smiling face in her head, mocking her for interviewing the Joker, the greatest supervillain in this town, and still ending up with a dud story. It was almost worth risking her life telling the Joker she wanted a redo…

She skipped back to the beginning of the interview, when she had first set the recorder going. She heard the Joker giving his reasons for avoiding Harley's disapproval, which set her imagination in motion. Surely since the Joker had spouted lies the whole interview, he of all people would approve of her making up a few lies of her own. And that way, when he told Harley that Vicki had made up the interview, it would be the truth. She was helping him out, really, and her story was going to be one that would really please the readers: an exclusive into the Joker and Harley Quinn's relationship, with the Joker expressing his true feelings for once. Of course the fact that he hadn't actually expressed any feelings verbally was a minor inconvenience – Vicki had heard the love in his voice, or so she told herself. She could read between the lines of what he had said to a man who protested too much, who, despite his outward appearance of a clown who didn't take anything seriously, was seriously in love with his partner-in-crime. It would be a feel-good story that would win over the people of Gotham, and perhaps lessen their pain at being attacked or robbed by the clown duo. And it was Vicky's duty, nay, responsibility to write this, having exclusive insight into their relationship that nobody else had. She would tell the people of Gotham the truth about the clown couple, or if not the truth, at least a heartwarming story.

She really should have known the consequences would be anything but heartwarming.


	4. Chapter 4

The Joker had his morning bowl of chocolate cereal with marshmallows placed on the table in front of him by Harley, who kissed him as she went to go pour hers. Joker grunted in acknowledgment as he picked up his spoon and dipped it into the chocolate milk, raising it to his lips as he picked up the newspaper in his free hand.

He suddenly spat out the spoonful of cereal as his eyes widened in shock at the front page headline and sub-heading: _Confessions of a Cupid-Struck Clown: The True, Exclusive Story Behind Mad Love Out of the Mouth of the Clown Prince of Crime Himself_ , _as Told to Vicki Vale._

"Puddin'?" asked Harley, hurrying over to him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," said Joker hastily, crumpling the newspaper up and shoving it behind his back. "Nothing, just…something in the paper."

"What?" asked Harley, reaching for it.

"Nothing," he repeated, lifting it out of her reach.

"If it's nothing, why can't I see it?" asked Harley, reaching for the paper again.

"Because it's…shocking and upsetting," he invented. "I'm trying to protect you from disturbing material, pumpkin pie. You should be thanking me."

"What disturbing material?" demanded Harley.

"Uh…Bats is dead," said Joker, clutching onto the first bit of disturbing material that popped into his head.

"Really?" asked Harley, hopeful and excited, which was not the reaction Joker had expected. "Who finally did it? Not you, or you would have told me. Was it Selina? I wouldn't blame her, after the way Batsy plays with her heart. No woman should put up with abuse and ill-treatment, especially not as long as she has."

"Harley…I'm shocked and disappointed that this is how you react when I tell you of my nemesis's demise that I had no hand in bringing about!" snapped Joker. "Don't you care about my feelings at all?!"

"Sure I do, Mr. J, but the pain will pass, and now that Bats is outta the way, we can get on with the really important things in our life, like raising our family of little Jokers…"

"Bats is not some distraction preventing me from my true purpose – he _is_ my true purpose!" snapped Joker.

"Well, not anymore," retorted Harley. "And I'm sure we're all gonna really miss him. Not. So c'mon, tell me, who did it?" she asked, jumping up to grab the paper again. Joker's reflexes were slowed by shock and anger, and Harley managed to rip the paper away from him.

"Hey! This don't say anything about Batsy being dead!" she snapped, her eyes narrowing. But then they lit up as she read the headline properly, and began skimming the article. "Aw, Mr. J! Did you really say all these nice things about me?" she asked, beaming. " _'Every great comedy act of the past several decades has always been a duo, and my own experience is no exception. I need my Harley girl – she's the Laurel to my Hardy, the Abbott to my Costello, the Statler to my Waldorf. She completes me as both a comedian, and as a man. I am a better, funnier person, all thanks to her influence.'_ "

"Of course I didn't say that!" snapped Joker. "You, half of my greatness?! You, making _me_ funnier?! How dare she?! How dare that dumb bitch of a reporter?! This isn't what I told her to write at all!"

"What do you mean, you told her to write?" asked Harley. "I mean, I believe she made this all up – it doesn't sound like you at all. She ain't got your tone right - sincere don't suit you. But are you telling me that you actually met with her and gave her an interview behind my back?"

Joker realized that in his fury, he had inadvertently told Harley the truth, and cursed his temper for its honesty. "No, of course not, pumpkin," he said, hastily. "I meant…the story I gave her…over the phone…"

"You called her without inviting me into the conversation?" demanded Harley. "Why? What were you saying to her that I couldn't hear?"

"Nothing, pooh!" he protested. "I just…didn't wanna bother you…"

" _The Joker stands in front of me, dressed in his usual purple suit, and wearing a green bow-tie and pink flower_ ," read Harley. She glared up at him. "You were wearing a green bow-tie and pink flower last Tuesday! The same date this story says your supposed meeting was!"

"You…keep track of what I wear on what day?" asked Joker, slowly.

"Yeah, I do!" snapped Harley. "And how did _she_ know if you didn't meet with her?!"

"Lucky guess, pooh," said Joker. "Coincidence."

"Nobody's that lucky!" snapped Harley. "And it's a pretty big coincidence you expect me swallow, that this reporter lady knew exactly what you were wearing on the day you supposedly met her without actually meeting her! Is she a psychic too, puddin'?!"

"Well…it's not the biggest thing I've expected you to swallow, if you know what I mean, pooh," chuckled Joker.

Harley slapped him hard across the face. "That's not funny!" she shrieked. "It's just vulgar! This ain't the time for your stupid jokes! And believe me, I ain't swallowing that again after this – I dunno where it's been!"

"Harley, don't you trust me?" demanded Joker.

"No, I don't, you lying bastard!" she shrieked. "What the hell happened at your meeting?! What did you actually do, instead of professing your undying love for me?!"

"Nothing!" protested Joker. "I tried to give her a good story…"

"But instead you ended up in bed together, and to assuage your guilt at your betrayal, she overcompensated by writing this over-the-top, romantic crap?!" shrieked Harley. "I was a shrink, you know! I know how affairs and their subsequent guilt complexes go!"

"Harley, don't be ridiculous!" snapped Joker. "Nothing like that happened! I just gave her a story…"

"A likely story!" snapped Harley. "Just like the story you're giving to me! Where is this story you tried to give her, if you truly tried to give her a different one then, huh?!"

"I don't know!" snapped Joker. "But I'm gonna find out right now!"

"The hell you are!" shouted Harley. "I ain't letting you go over there again for another little afternoon delight! I hope you said your goodbyes before you left, because I'm gonna kill her! And then I'm gonna kill you!"

"For what?" demanded Joker. "You've just invented all this in your head, Harley – there's not the slightest shred of evidence for any of your ridiculous and completely unfounded suspicions!"

"You think I can't find some?" she demanded. "You think you're so clever, and covered your little affair up completely, huh?! Well, I'll show you! I'm smarter than you and her think, and nobody cheats on Harley Quinn and gets away with it!"

"Look, you dumb blonde, I haven't cheated on you!" he roared. "The only thing I wanna do with Vicki Vale is murder her after this fiasco! I gave her a perfectly good, utterly hysterical story, and she makes up this crap about me being madly in love with you! But that's women writers for you, I guess – they may say they're real reporters, but they're always gonna be looking for the women's magazine angle. This is the kinda crap you'd find in those lifestyle issues about how to get your bikini body and eight secrets he'll go wild for in the bedroom."

"Oh, so that's it!" snapped Harley. "You cheated on me because I ain't got the perfect bikini body, and because I ain't pleasuring you enough in the bedroom, huh?! Well, I doubt Vicki Vale is gonna do half the stuff I do for you, you selfish jerk! I bet she wasn't half the lover I am, but you just had to go see for yourself if there were better women out there, didn't you, you slimy rat?! Red's right – all men are creeps who are ultimately gonna betray you looking for something better…"

"Harley, shut up!" shouted Joker. "I haven't cheated on you, for the last time, and I never would! Because I don't wanna have to deal with crap like this, mostly! And also because there ain't any woman out there better for me than you! I made you in my image as my perfect dame! And dammit, you're a lot more of a pain in the ass than I bargained for, but if you think I'm gonna throw away all my hard work on you for some other blonde bimbo, then you don't know me at all! I'm loyal to a fault, which is why I don't give up on Batsy, and why I don't give up on you, despite all your nagging and incompetence! It would be too much effort on my part to try and shape another woman into my perfect dame! And she might not be you, but she's as close as I'm gonna get, so I might as well make the best of it!"

Harley glared at him. "You're protesting too much, Mr. J, and I ain't buying it!" she snapped. "I know you've cheated!"

"Of course I'm protesting too much!" he retorted. "Because you're flying off the handle over nothing! What do you expect me to do, just agree with your ridiculous accusations?"

"At least that would be honest," retorted Harley. "But you ain't honest, are you, Mr. J? You're just some clown who will lie if he thinks it's funny, and who will do anything for a joke. Well, I ain't laughing. Not this time. She's dead!" Harley snapped, turning on her heel and storming back to the bedroom to get dressed.

Joker let out an exasperated sigh, and then checked his watch. "Not if I kill her first," he muttered, grabbing a knife and then racing out the door in his bathrobe.


	5. Chapter 5

Vicki Vale had just got the call from her editor saying that thanks to her scoop, their paper was currently enjoying their highest sales in history. She had certainly blown Jack Ryder's ridiculous Riddler interview out of the water, and already the public was demanding a follow-up interview. Vicki had told him she was sure that could be arranged – she would just do what she did last time and make it up. Maybe from Harley's perspective this time, although she actually thought showing the human side of the Joker was probably more what the public craved. People always preferred their monsters with a tender side.

She sat in front of her laptop, already planning out her next story, when she heard a commotion coming from outside her apartment. It sounded like a crowd of people had gathered below, and Vicki headed over to the window to look out.

At first she thought her scoop must have made her an instant, overnight celebrity, because the huge mob below were all pointing up at her window. But then her window suddenly shattered as a fist slammed through it, and a second later, the Joker climbed through the hole, ignoring the broken glass. He was dressed only in his bathrobe and had a knife between his teeth.

"Did you…climb up to my apartment?" stammered Vicki, glancing out the window. That certainly explained the crowd.

"Used…the drainpipe," gasped Joker, trying to catch his breath. "Bad idea…when you're not…fully dressed. So much chafing…"

"Why didn't you just use the elevator? Or the stairs?" asked Vicki, puzzled.

"No time…had to beat…Harley," he gasped. "Faster to go…straight up…than around and around…on the stairs. Or wait…for an elevator."

"Why's Harley coming here?" asked Vicki.

"The same reason I'm here," retorted Joker. "To kill you."

"Kill me?" repeated Vicki, shocked. "Why?"

"Why?! For that insulting story!" roared Joker. "For that made up piece of crap that painted me as some simpering sap! Do you have any idea what that can do to my reputation?! And do you have any idea how important my reputation is to me?!"

"I'm…sorry," stammered Vicki. "I thought…as long as you were making stuff up…I could too."

"You didn't need to make stuff up!" shouted Joker. "I had already given you a doozy of a story!"

"Uh…yeah, but…I just didn't think…it was very good," said Vicki, slowly.

Joker looked even more incensed. "You didn't think it was very good?" he repeated, quietly. "Who the hell do you think you are, sweetheart, a comedy critic?! You're a goddamn reporter, and your job is to report stuff exactly as it happens, or exactly as someone tells it to ya! How dare you editorialize my material?! I'm the Joker, toots, the funniest guy who ever lived, and you're just some parasite of the press! And you think you have the right to criticize me?!"

"I think everyone has the right to criticize you," retorted Vicki. She was clearly already dead, and strangely this acceptance gave her the strength to tell the truth. "You're a raving psychopath."

"I'd rather be a raving psychopath than a reporter!" shouted Joker. "At least I actually do my own dirty work, rather than just write about it for profit! At least I'm honest about who I am, and don't make up lies about other people! And at least I'm gonna be still breathing in the next thirty seconds, which is more than I can say for you!" he shouted, raising the knife.

"Back off, puddin', she's mine!" shrieked a voice from the doorway. Vicki turned to see Harley Quinn standing there, having blown the door off its hinges with a bazooka she carried on her shoulder. "Stand back – I don't wanna incinerate you," she said to Joker, aiming the bazooka at Vicki. "I want your death to be slower and a lot more painful!"

"Nah uh, Harley, this bitch is mine!" snapped Joker, grabbing Vicki's arm and shoving her behind him. "She's insulted me!"

"She's insulted me by sleeping with my boyfriend!" shrieked Harley. "But she's just using you for your fame, puddin'! She doesn't love you the way I do! Now step back or I'll blow you away too!"

"Woah, woah, woah, I did not sleep with the Joker!" exclaimed Vicki. "I wanna make that clear at least before I die! I don't want a lie like that in my obituary!"

"Don't try to deny it!" snapped Harley. "How could you possibly resist him when it's just the two of you alone, sharing secrets?! Anyway, I found that evidence you said I'd never find! I threatened the apartment security guard with the bazooka until he showed me the CCTV footage from the night of your meeting – it shows you meeting my puddin' in your bathrobe, and making sure nobody sees you ushering him into your apartment! And now, surprise surprise, I find my puddin' here barely dressed! You gonna call that a coincidence too, puddin'?!"

"Yes!" roared Joker. "I interrupted her during her bath, and I rushed outta the hideout without dressing to beat you here!"

"You just got an excuse for everything, doncha?!" snapped Harley. "You just can't admit the truth, can you, you big creep?!"

"That _is_ the truth, Harley!" shouted Joker. "I would never cheat on you!"

"How do I know that?" shrieked Harley.

"Because I love you, you little idiot!" he roared. "I love you!"

"I knew it!" exclaimed Vicki. "I knew I didn't make it up completely – I knew I was a good journalist reading between the lines…"

"Shut up!" snapped Harley, tightening her finger on the bazooka trigger. But then she slowly lowered it to the ground, staring at Joker. "You…you really do love me, puddin'? You're not just saying that so I won't blow you away?"

"Kiddo, if I didn't love you, I'd have blown you away a long time ago," retorted Joker. "And nobody could blame me, having to put up with a spoiled, nagging, clinging little brat all these years. You don't know how many times I thought about silencing that annoying voice forever by choking the life outta you, or stabbing you right between your big blue eyes, or melting that smile offa your pretty face with acid. But I ain't ever done any of that, as much as I've been tempted. If that ain't love, I don't know what love is."

Harley's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, puddin'!" she gasped, dropping the bazooka and racing into his arms. They hugged tightly, and even Vicki felt her heart melt a little as she gazed at them.

Her heart plummeted again when she heard Joker say the words, "Of course, now that Miss Vale's heard that, she'll still have to die."

"What? Why?" demanded Vicki.

"You know too much," said Joker, shrugging. "One of the perils of being a reporter, I guess. I can't have you actually publishing the truth about me and my pumpkin pie. I mean, one made-up interview I can publicly refute, but since it's been so popular, you're gonna keep writing 'em, because you've stumbled your way onto a scoop. So we're gonna have to silence you permanently. You wanna cut first, pooh?" Joker asked, handing his knife to Harley.

"I sure do, puddin'," agreed Harley, eyeing Vicki and smiling. "Where do we think is the most fun place to start mutilating?"

"You know me, pooh – I always start with a smile," said Joker.

Vicki stared back into Harley Quinn's insane eyes, and knew she was going to die. And again, her first reaction wasn't fear of death, but rather fear of bad publicity after death. "Ok…but can you at least make sure I'm a recognizable corpse?" she asked. "I wanna look good at my funeral, and the subsequent news story covering my death. Like, front page material, not a gory body that's gonna need to be moved to page three. Also, just so we're clear for my obituary, I never, ever slept with the Joker. Did not even consider that once. I mean, I've slept with a lotta creeps to further my career, Bruce Wayne being the latest, but definitely not the Joker. There are some things I just won't do for a scoop, and he's one of them."

"Wow, you want me to leave you a good-looking corpse and then you go insult my boyfriend like that?" said Harley, whistling. She shrugged. "Your loss, toots. It woulda been incredible, take it from me. Mr. J don't give less than five star performances. Probably twice the man Bruce Wayne is too, if you know what I mean."

"Not in any way, shape, or form," growled a voice, as Batman appeared in the doorway.

"What are you doing up this early?" demanded Joker. "Ain't bats nocturnal?"

"I was alerted to Miss Vale's story this morning, and knew you two wouldn't waste any time in getting revenge on her for it," retorted Batman.

"You shouldn't bother interfering, Bats. Nobody's gonna miss one more journalist," said Harley. "They're like lawyers – pests just coming outta the woodwork these days."

"She doesn't deserve to die for her career choice," said Batman.

"By that logic, we don't deserve to be locked up in Arkham for our career choices," said Joker. "And yet we are."

"I'm sorry you can't see the difference between your career and hers," said Batman. "But you break the law, and she doesn't."

"Libel and slander is breaking the law!" shouted Joker. "She wrote a fabricated article about me, and I bet she ain't even gonna be punished for it!"

"Not by you, certainly," retorted Batman. "Now put down the knife, Harley, before I have to make you."

"Ok, Bats," sighed Harley. "I'll just…teach you to mind your own business!" she shrieked, whirling around and throwing the knife at him suddenly. He ducked, but the distraction had given the Joker time to throw a punch which hit him squarely in the jaw, while Harley had grabbed Vicki by her hair and began to slam her face into a table.

"That's…for making…people laugh…at Mr. J!" Harley shouted.

"I thought he wanted to be laughed at!" cried Vicki. "He's a clown, after all!"

"Oh yeah, good point," said Harley, releasing her suddenly.

"No, Harley, I want people laughing _with_ me, not _at_ me!" roared Joker, whom Batman had in a headlock.

"Oh yeah," repeated Harley, grabbing Vicki's hair again and resuming slamming her face into the table. "With, not at!" Harley shrieked. "Get it straight, you dumb blonde!"

Vicki only had to endure a few more seconds of pain before Batman grabbed Harley and cuffed her wrists behind her back, shoving her to her knees beside an already subdued Joker. "Are you ok?" Batman asked, gazing at Vicki in concern.

"Yeah," said Vicki, struggling to her feet. "Sometimes a good story…requires a little pain, I guess."

"Get to the hospital," said Batman. "I'm taking these two back to Arkham."

"This ain't over, Vale!" shouted Joker, as Batman dragged the clowns out the door. "You better enjoy reporting while you can, because there ain't no reporting in the afterlife, and that's where you're headed the moment I'm free! You're dead!"

"Dead, dead, dead!" agreed Harley, sticking her tongue out at Vicki.

Vicki sighed as the door closed, and then headed over to a mirror to examine the cuts and bruises on her face. "Oh God, this is not good for my career," she sighed, gazing at her reflection. "With a face like this, I might have to start looking into radio."


	6. Chapter 6

"So Vale, I heard you had to publish a retraction on your Mad Love scoop," sneered Jack Ryder in the newsroom the next day.

"It was either that, or have the Joker and Harley Quinn after my blood for the rest of my life," retorted Vicki. "And they're not the kind of people who give up easily. Just ask Batman."

"I would, if I knew who he was," said Ryder. "There's a scoop that would make me famous for life – I'd forever be known as the guy who interviewed the Batman!"

"Hey, I'm the woman who interviewed the Joker, and lived to tell the tale," retorted Vicki.

"Yeah, right," snorted Ryder. "You probably made that up too, Vale."

"I didn't! And don't pretend like you've never made up a story, Ryder!" snapped Vicki. "Mine was just unfortunate enough to be picked up on by a couple of homicidal maniacs. The lunatics shouldn't be allowed to limit the freedom of the press like that."

"I don't think that's what freedom of the press means," said a voice behind them. They turned to see Bruce Wayne standing there. "It doesn't mean the freedom to make things up," he said.

"Nobody asked you, did they?" retorted Ryder.

"What are you doing here, Bruce?" asked Vicki.

"I'm here to meet with your editor," said Bruce. "I read about the attempt on your life, and I'm going to ask him, for the safety of his employees and of Gotham City in general, to stop publishing articles glamorizing the criminals of this town."

Both Vicki and Ryder stared at him. "But…but you can't!" stammered Ryder. "How are we supposed to sell papers? How are we supposed to earn a living?"

"How are we supposed to get our names in print?" demanded Vicki. "How are we supposed to be rich and famous? You can't limit the freedom of the press like that, Bruce! It's unethical, and immoral."

"I think we'll have to agree to disagree on that, Vicki," said Bruce, calmly. "I would say unethical and immoral is something like going out with a guy just to use him for a story. I would say it's making up lies about another guy and his girlfriend just to sell a bunch of papers. I would say it's encouraging copycats by giving lurid details of the supercriminals and their crimes, and intruding on the lives of the victims of those crimes by begging them for graphic details. But then again, I'm not a journalist, so I appreciate we have different ideas about ethics and morality."

He left them, heading toward the editor's office. They gaped after him, shocked. "He…he doesn't really have the power to do that, right?" stammered Ryder. "I mean…he's rich and influential and all, but…but he can't make that happen."

"He can if he pays our editor enough," sighed Vicki. "If it's not worth his while to publish these things anymore, he won't. We'll have to go back to reporting on local news and lifestyle."

"Oh God, I can't go back to those heartwarming stories about finding lost puppies, and firemen getting kittens down from trees!" groaned Ryder.

"Well, how do you think I like going back to fashion magazine stuff?" demanded Vicki. "Do you have any idea how many diet tips and tricks I've had to make up? Here's a scoop for you: surprisingly, none of them work!"

"You're good at making up stuff, though, Vale," retorted Ryder. "That's what's got us into this mess in the first place." He glanced toward the editor's office, where Bruce Wayne sat waiting. "Can't you go in there and try to…y'know…seduce him away from this idea?" he demanded.

"You expect me to seduce Bruce Wayne in the editor's office?" asked Vicki. "He could walk in at any moment! Anyway, I don't think it would work – Bruce is the kinda guy who has ideas about things, and he can't be swayed from those ideas when he has them, not even by stunningly attractive reporters. He's super boring, like I said."

"You could try," said Ryder. "Or you'll be stuck doing lifestyle again if you're lucky, and recipes if you're not!"

Vicki remembered the hours she used to spend, as a young, trainee journalist, slogging through recipes on the internet, and tweaking them slightly to vary them in order to be able to print them in the paper, under the heading, "Auntie Em's Home Fixin's." It had been the most humiliating six months of her life.

"No, I'm not going back to that," she said, standing up firmly in resolution. She headed toward the editors office, and opened the door, smiling at Bruce.

"Hi, Brucie – can I get you anything?" she asked. "Coffee maybe?"

"No, thanks," said Bruce.

"Maybe…something a little hotter than coffee?" she purred, straddling his lap suddenly.

Bruce stared at her. "Vicki…are you seriously trying to come onto me so I won't talk with your editor?"

"Oh Brucie, you have such a suspicious mind," sighed Vicki, smiling at him. "This isn't so you won't talk to my editor – this is because I miss you so much, and I really regret breaking up with you…"

"I can't believe you're actually that shallow," interrupted Bruce, shoving her away. "Especially when I'm doing this for your own protection, after you were threatened by lunatics!"

"But Bruce, please, you don't know what it'll be like if we can't write about the supercriminals anymore!" cried Vicki. "Our careers will be over! They're all we have!"

"So your career is more important than your life, is that what you're saying?" demanded Bruce.

"Of course it is!" exclaimed Vicki. "I'm a journalist in Gotham City! We all go into this business thinking it might kill us, but that's a risk we all take!"

"Why?" asked Bruce.

"Why?" repeated Vicki. "For the publicity! For the limelight! I can't expect a natural born celebrity like you, Bruce, to appreciate the things normal people will do for just a little piece of fame! To be the ones featured in the news, and making the news…"

"Vicki, my celebrity is nothing to be jealous about!" snapped Bruce. "Believe me, if I could get rid of it somehow and just live a normal life, I would!"

"Don't try to make me feel better, Bruce!" retorted Vicki. "I know you're lying! The life of the rich and famous is the dream of every American, and you can't take away our dreams, Bruce! Please don't do this! Please let us keep writing about the supercriminals! Please!"

Bruce studied her. "You have to promise me you'll stop making up lies," he said.

"Of course, Bruce, anything, I swear," she said. "100% honest journalism from now on."

"And you have to stop glamorizing them," continued Bruce. "Their lives are not something to be celebrated, or emulated."

"Yes, Bruce, only negative stories, I promise," said Vicki.

The editor entered at that moment. "Mr. Wayne, such a pleasure," he said, shaking his hand. "How can I help you?"

Bruce looked back at Vicki, who gazed at him pleadingly. "I just wanted to…have a tour of the office," he said. "I've always been interested in journalism, and I'd love to see how a newspaper is actually run."

"Of course, Mr. Wayne," said the editor. "Allow me to show you around. Back to work, Vale," he snapped, as he led Bruce out of the office.

Vicki let out a sigh of relief and mouthed a thank you at Bruce as he was led off. She returned to her desk, where Ryder was watching TV. "Your friends are on the news," he said, nodding at the screen, where the Joker and Harley Quinn were being interviewed in the Rec Room of Arkham Asylum.

"Mr. Joker, are you satisfied with Ms. Vale's retraction in today's edition?" asked a reporter. "Or is she still your public enemy number one?"

"Hey, the day I let a reporter replace Batsy as my public enemy number one is the day I go from public enemy number one to the town's laughing stock!" retorted Joker.

"I thought you wanted to be a laughing stock, puddin'," said Harley, confused.

"No, Harley, for the last time, I want people laughing _with_ me, not _at_ me!" snapped Joker. "Anyway, Vale's no threat to me, and while I don't believe I overreacted after such libel and slander was published about me, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones after the retraction. She's safe, for now, as long as it doesn't happen again. Because if it does, she'll be dead quicker than she can say, 'Extra, extra, read all about it'!"

"So there was absolutely no truth to her story?" continued the reporter. "You're not actually in love with Harley Quinn?"

"No comment!" snapped Joker.

"Yeah, he is," sighed Harley, dreamily, embracing him. "He's just as much in love with me as I am with him, my puddin' pop, my schmoopy whoopie cushion, my Clown Prince of Pantsless…"

"This interview is over!" interrupted Joker, trying to shove Harley away, who clung on diligently, even as he hurried back to his cell. The reporters continued to follow him, shouting out questions.

"Good news for you, Vale," said Ryder, flicking off the TV and turning to her. "And I'm hoping there's good news about Wayne?"

Vicki nodded. "I promised him we wouldn't make up anything else, and that we wouldn't glamorize the supercriminals again."

Ryder gaped at her. "You might as well have promised him to quit your job!" he snapped. "How are we supposed to sell papers now?!"

"Relax, Ryder," snapped Vicki. "Just because I promised him doesn't mean I'll keep my word. Anyway, he doesn't have to know we make up news, and I can always feign ignorance if we do. I can say at the time, all my sources pointed to it being the truth. And I can also feign ignorance of glamorizing anyone. Who knows what that word actually means? As long as I don't write an article directly stating that the life of a supercriminal is a good thing, I can always just accuse Bruce of seeing things that aren't there. He can't prove I intended to write otherwise. A good journalist knows never to make her meaning clear. The key to good writing is to inflate weak ideas, obscure poor reasoning, and inhibit clarity, every good reporter knows that."

"True," agreed Ryder, nodding. "I have to hand it to you, Vale, you averted a disaster in there. And whether it was making empty promises to a celebrity, or just offering to sleep with him, I'm just glad your methods worked."

"Me too," agreed Vicki. "I use whatever methods work to do the things I need to do. Again, that's what makes a good journalist. And I'm the best there is."

"Agree to disagree," said Ryder, standing up. "Well, I've gotta go – the boss wants my new story on his desk by five, and I only have a couple hours to make up something. I might call Lois Lane at the Daily Planet in Metropolis and see if she has any potentially ground-breaking scoops. Rumor is Lex Luthor's going to run for president, and even if that's not true, it'd be a great story."

"Just make sure you get through to Lois, and not that Clark Kent," said Vicki. "That guy's a real buzzkill – reminds me a lot of Bruce, actually. A couple of self-righteous guys who think they're so much better than everyone else."

"Yeah, they shouldn't try to be heroes," agreed Ryder, nodding. "Leave that to the professionals."

He snapped his fingers. "Hey, that'd be a great piece of made-up news, if you hadn't just promised him you wouldn't make anything up! Picture it: Bruce Wayne is Batman!"

"Ha ha," said Vicki, rolling her eyes. "Now that's too ridiculous a story even for the general public to swallow. Believe me, I dated the guy. If he's Batman, I'm the world's worst reporter."

 **The End**


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